An Affair To Remember
by a thousand winds
Summary: Belden. Yolane. Tristan. Pain. Behind the scenes of WS, Tristan and Yolane's affair hurts everyone. Even themselves. YolaneTristan, BeldenYolane, hints of GissaTristan.
1. Yolane: Don't Look

_Written for the Seanfhocal Circle's challenge 8._

It was an ordinary dinner. She sat at the foot of the table, Gissa at her right hand. Tristan sat next to Belden, engaging in a fairly one-sided conversation. She ate, trying not to notice the temperature of the food. The best way was to focus on Tristan. But that would be staring, and that was not only impolite and decidedly unroyal, but embarrassing, if Belden caught her. Which was unlikely, but one could never be too careful.

It was really quite difficult not to, she mused, toying with her bread. He was handsome, she'd known that from the day he'd come to the castle with messages from Ozorne. She hadn't slept in her own room that night. 

Belden didn't know, or, if he did, didn't care. The thought of the latter option irked her, a little. It wasn't that she exactly wanted to see him hurt, physically or emotionally, but it would be nice to think that he hadn't just married her for Dunlath – not that he had, she had been the court belle then, and she knew she was still beautiful. Tristan hated it when she spent the night with her husband, even knowing it was only for appearances.

She looked down the table, and her eyes met Tristan's. He smiled at her, a slow, meaningful smile. She lowered her eyes and felt the corners of her mouth turn up in response.

"You look tired, my lady," he said with false concern.

"I do need a rest," she replied, faking a yawn behind her hand.

"May I escort you to your chambers?"

"I would be delighted, Tristan."

They left, arm in arm. 

Neither of them saw Belden gazing after them, impotent fury in his face.


	2. Belden: Smirking

_Written for the Seanfhocal Circle's challenge 6._

He'd seen it the moment the man walked in, he told himself.

Yolane had risen to greet him, a smile on her soft red lips. He had kissed her hand, and a slight blush had graced that ivory-and-rose complexion. Tristan had come with messages from Carthak, and was staying to assist the mining. He'd known then, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that it was over.

Only he hadn't. He'd thought how charming the blush had been, and how unfailingly polite Tristan was. He'd seen how the mage's eyes followed his wife around the room, but had smirked at him, safe in the knowledge that Yolane would never return his affections.

Even when Yolane's maid came to him that night and informed him that her mistress was feeling unwell, and would go to bed early tonight, he had merely expressed his condolences and his hopes that she would be better the next morning.

She was, of course.

Yolane stayed with him during the nights for the next few weeks, but during the days he saw little of her, she spent so much time with Tristan. Then she began to cry off the nights, too, saying her nerves were not strong. He soothed her, calmed her, and soon she was herself again, laughing and bickering with Gissa and Alamid. She also spent less time with Tristan, and it seemed that a coldness had sprung up between them.

It was a few days later that he saw them.

He was taking a walk through the shrubbery when he heard a moan. Giving into curiosity, he put his head cautiously around the corner to see who it was.

At first he was amused, seeing only broad shoulders and the back of a brown-blond head. He was about to turn away and give Tristan and his friend some privacy. But then he heard a very familiar voice murmur breathlessly:

"Tristan – Tristan…"

"I'm sorry," he whispered back. "It just makes me angry – jealous – to think of him…I know you have to. And I'm _sorry_. I love you so much…"

"I love you, too."

He backed away and fled. It was not manly of him, he mused later, brooding over the scene. He should have stood his ground, challenged Tristan. But what could he, not even a knight, and certainly no sorcerer, do against the best war-mage in Carthak? At best, Ozorne would withdraw his support and Yolane would hate him, if she didn't already. At worst, he would be killed, and King Tristan would reign in his stead. Neither option was pleasant.

He wondered, now, what he would say if Yolane told him she was with child. Would he reject her, showing that he knew of the affair? Or would he smile and rejoice, playing the part of the cuckolded husband?

He looked down the table at Tristan, who was gazing at Yolane, a soft, loving smile apparent on his face. Hot anger flared within him, jealousy and hatred almost consuming him, before he forced it back.

"You look tired, my lady," he was saying, a suggestive tone in his voice.

Yolane stretched like a cat, almost purring. "I do need a rest," she admitted.

"May I escort you to your chambers?"

He shuddered at the thought, and tightened his grip on the wine glass.

"Certainly, Tristan."

He watched them go, arm in arm. And as they went, Tristan glanced back over his shoulder and looked directly at him.

Smirking.


	3. Tristan: Jealousy

I couldn't stop thinking about it.

Right now she would be kissing him, lifting her beautiful white hands to hold his face to hers. Smiling at him, eyes full of love and passion.

_False love, I remind myself. _She loves me, not him. It's only for appearances.__

But when I think of him touching her, loving her, I want to storm into his chambers and rip them apart, kill him with magic or sword, I care not which, and then take her in his blood. But she would never stand for that, I know, and it would destroy everything.

I loved her, strange as it may seem. I did not understand how she could ignore one matter and fret over another. And she didn't understand how I could annihilate armies without a qualm and still fear Ozorne. When she asked, I simply said a name – Arram's – and we laughed. She told me she loved me.

Was that a lie?

_Never, I told myself. __Why would she bother otherwise?_

There was a knock on the door. I sprang up from the bed, foolish hope burning in my heart. Was it over already?

But it was Gissa. She smirked at me.

"Are you a night owl, too, Tristan?"

"Yes," I said, not moving to invite her in.

"Up for some company?" She was practically purring.

"Not really."

"Are you sure?" She placed her hand on my chest.

"Yes." I removed her hand from there and put it down by her side, giving her wrist an extra hard squeeze as I did so.

She glared at me, humiliated.

"You'll regret this, _Master_ Staghorn."

I breathed a sigh of relief as she disappeared round the corner. Shutting the door, I grimaced. Truly, I wasn't averse to the idea. But I couldn't, not when my head was so full of her.

I almost laughed at that. When was it not? And Yolane, my beautiful Yolane had another lover. Why shouldn't I? It was only my pride that kept me from calling after Gissa, that and a realisation that Yolane would never forgive me if I did. And I was sure, I was very sure that Gissa would tell her in the most painful way possible.

I flung myself back down on the bed. I wondered where she was. Was she still with Belden? Or had she returned to her own rooms after – after?

Neither, it turned out, as she opened the door without knocking. I sat up and she slid gracefully on to the bed beside me. I leaned over to her, kissing her deeply.

"I missed you," I said. I would never have said that to anyone else.

"It wasn't the same," she whispered. "It's not like it is with you."

I knew that now she was with me and not him. "I love you," I told her, pushing her back down on the bed.

"I love you, too."

We didn't speak again that night.


	4. Belden: Discovery

_Written for the Seanfhocal Circle's challenge 10._

"Please, I'm telling you this as a friend. Don't do it."

I stared at Alamid unseeingly. Gissa looked at me with something like triumph in her eyes.

"But…"

"If you do, you will lose everything. _Everything_. The Emperor will not take kindly to a duel between you and his favourite. You win, and you lose your position, your income, _and Yolane. If you lose, you die, and Tristan will marry your widow."_

"But the alternative…!" _A cuckolded husband!_ I thought.

"Dunlath is a quiet place. No messages go to or from it, save to Carthak, and they will say nothing."

I wanted to strike his calm, dark face. More appealing, however, was the thought of gutting that two-faced, laughing Tristan Staghorn. To see the stain of blood spreading over his well-cut tunic, handsome face twisting in the agony of death, bright eyes clouding over as he was taken by the Black God.

And Yolane weeping over him, devastated at the loss of her lover.

No. No.

I turned to Gissa. She tossed her head defiantly.

"Why – why did you tell me this? When you – you _knew­_ – ?"

Gissa sneered at me.

"We are not all so fortunate as to be Tristan Staghorn's lover, Lord Belden. Quite frankly, I wonder at you. Yolane is, after all, _your_ wife. Not Tristan's. Are you man or mouse?"

I jerked convulsively, spilling my wine. Alamid took my glass and placed it on the table.

"Quiet, Gissa," he said. To me, he added: "Don't be stupid. I told you what is at stake."

I nodded, still shaking. He was right.

That night at dinner, I spoke little and spent most of my time staring into my wine glass. Even when Tristan offered to escort Yolane to her bedchamber, and she accepted, I did not look up. But for a moment, just as the doors closed behind them, I could not resist a glance. Tristan saw me.

He smiled.


End file.
